


a pyrrhic victory never feels like a win, does it?

by GeraldTheFabulousGiraffe



Category: RWBY
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hmmm. So. About that finale, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, James Ironwood centric, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Salem (RWBY) should not be left alone with children, for a protection squad we do love to torture our son, thank the discord chat, 👀 sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21622558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeraldTheFabulousGiraffe/pseuds/GeraldTheFabulousGiraffe
Summary: from the Oscar Pine Protection Squad (ironic i know), this prompt:"oh man now I'm thinking about what kind of choice that would be. for every incarnation to have to really adopt the mindset of 'death before capture'"&"What if Oz's right hands are in on the ultimatum? And oz told them that if they couldn't save him from being captured, they need to kill him"there is HUGE angst, so beware.
Relationships: (IMPLIED), (also implied), (why isnt that a tag thats his mETAL DAD), Glynda Goodwitch/James Ironwood, James Ironwood & Oscar Pine, Qrow Branwen & James Ironwood & Ozpin, Qrow Branwen/Ozpin
Comments: 21
Kudos: 117





	a pyrrhic victory never feels like a win, does it?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShadowSnowdapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowSnowdapple/gifts), [kineticallyanywhere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kineticallyanywhere/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Where the Right Answers Lie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21739648) by [ShadowSnowdapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowSnowdapple/pseuds/ShadowSnowdapple). 



> gods above im sorry
> 
> also i should update the other stories soon, so..  
> sorry bout that
> 
> this came to me from the discord chat. mies, im super sorry.
> 
> (P.S. go check out part two, by said amazing Mies!! It’s the one linked above, and amazing)
> 
> maybe there’ll be a part three soon...

It had begun with a conversation. 

Ozpin had woken from a nightmare, and had been restless ever since. His hazel eyes flitted between surfaces faster than anyone could follow. Up and down, up and down, he paced, cane swinging in his hand. The weight was not just suffocating him, either.

The headmaster’s inner circle were also feeling the strain. Somehow, the numbers of grimm had been growing exponentially, almost too much for the huntsmen to handle. Uneasily, the General, the Witch, and the Dusty Old Crow shifted amongst themselves. In all the years they had been privy to his secrets - or  _ some  _ of his secrets, as only he could know them all - they had never seen him this nervous. Or, to put it more accurately: afraid.

“After recent, ah -  _ recollection _ \- of certain events, I have come to realise that we all must be aware of the procedure we must follow if She is to ‘capture’ me, so-to-speak,” the white haired man cleared his throat, “In the event that She finds me, it is imperative that I am not ‘taken alive’, as you would put it, Qrow.”

Almost instantly, there was a cacophony of noise. Qrow - as always when in defence of the Wizard - was loudest.

“Oz, you can’t just expect us to- to  _ kill  _ you. You’re not a grimm, we can’t just cut you down without a thought!”

Glynda’s argument had been quieter, but no less ferocious. “I know this is the way you’ve always done this, but I refuse to accept this. We cannot just  _ let _ you die, like a damn lamb to the slaughter! Surely, there is something else?”

Yet, over their protests and cries, the two headmasters shared a glance. At once, James knew that, if it were to come down to it, there wouldn’t really be a choice to make. After all, this was the risk as a huntsman; if your teammates were injured or suffering beyond the help that probably wasn’t coming, you put them out of their misery. And a huntsman is what he had always wanted to be.

  
  
  


_ Roughly a decade later... _

  
  


Red light danced over the pitch walls. It crawled between the shattered glass panes, dancing over the staggered cracks in the ebony brick. Scarlet light pooled on the floor, as if the broken tiles had begun to bleed. It rippled between the shaking shadows, and seemed to cower from the furious creature in black robes.

Her fury was palatable, it swarmed in the air. After eons of hatred, there was virtually nothing of her soul left. And that was clear now. All but snarling, she dug her stygian-veined fingers into Oscar’s scalp; a small shriek of pain was ripped from his bleeding lips. His shadowed, sorrowful-beyond-his-years eyes locked with the General’s own; abruptly, the immortal’s words burst forth in his mind. 

Oh how truly cruel, to have to kill a dear friend  _ (one he had mourned for nearly two years, no less)  _ nevertheless a child. An innocent child, dragged into a war he had no part in, regardless that it never should’ve been fought in the first place. As a consequence of divine meddling, a child - the latest of far too many - would have to die, without ever having a chance to grow up. He would never receive a huntsman’s license, would never have his first drink, surrounded by his closest friends. He would never choose and name his own weapon, one for him and no-one else. He would never reach his fifteenth birthday, let alone his eighteenth.

And James Ironwood would be his executioner.

Drawing his pistol underneath the deafening pleas of the teenagers around him, he whispered a final prayer for forgiveness. Hopefully, it would be so quick the boy would never feel it, but he had never been a particularly fortunate man.

As if she had ripped the awful thought from his mind, the Queen of Darkness smiled. It was terrifying. Different from the joyous grins of his students, or the fond smiles of his friends and comrades, Salem’s smiles were filled with everything he had ever fought against, everything that his instincts were for; it filled him with such a deep, visceral fear, that he knew it would still be there on his deathbed. Her unsettling smile firmly in place, she covered Oscar’s head with a segment of industrutable grimm bone; he would have no choice but to make it painful. 

Desperately forcing his mind back to the task at hand, James whispered an apology, and fired.

All at once, an agonised scream shattered the orchestra of anguish. Upright only by Salem’s rapidly staining hand, the tiny body all but dropped to the wet marble. Distressingly, as his eyes had been covered, he would never know just how afraid the boy had been. Had he wept silently; allowing himself just a second of self-pity, or had he been courageous to the end, facing his merciless destiny with a face of stone? He would never know what the boy had thought - he was dead by James’ hand.

_ What had he done? _

With a cry not unlike the monsters she commanded, the Queen of Darkness threw the boy back at him; he landed with a sickening ‘thump’. Sneering, she stormed from the room, ordering her various remaining cronies to follow. The assassin spared him a glance, even his mocking cackle momentarily silenced. Cinder, the one who had led to the deaths of so many children, with her flames and her falsely-simpering words, fell quiet as she trailed after the tyrant. 

A thought came to him then, fast and unbidden. Glynda, teaching in Vacuo, had barely a chance to meet Oscar, and had protested to Ozpin’s ‘rule’ just as heatedly as the rest of them. When would she receive the news, and what would she do when she did? Would she rage, in her simmering, silent way, or would it break her, as it would soon do to him? At the very least, she would never speak to him again. None of them would.

James suddenly recalled one of the many petty arguments he’d had with Qrow, back before it all went wrong.

_ “If you were one of my men, I’d have you shot!” _

But he hadn’t meant it, not genuinely, not if he’d had known it would lead to this.

Cradling the impossibly small body in his arms, the tin man’s heart broke beyond repair. 


End file.
